Entries tagged with fitzgerald

In 2009, I took one of a litter of Beagle pups that had been born on a farm. I named him Fitzgerald and, for the few months Aunt Tudi and I had him, he was an absolute joy. Except for one thing...

On our return from grocery shopping one day, Fitzgerald met us at the car. You may be inclined to think, "So what? That's what dogs do!" But, see, my yard is completely fenced in, thanks to another Beagle in my life, Henry Herman, who ate all the wiring out from under my car. I figured there had to be a hole in the fence somewhere.

I investigated, and found one spot Fitzgerald could squeeze through if he really wanted to. I blocked it off and figured the problem was solved.

It was not.

The next week, coming back from the store, Aunt Tudi and I watched slack-jawed at Fitzgerald bouncing merrily alongside the car, acting like he was herding some nerfs. But I couldn't find anywhere in the fence that was compromised.

A few days later, Janice called to inform me that Fitzgerald was up at her and Uncle Michael's house, and she saw how he was getting out.

Fitzgerald, wee escape artist that we is, or was when he was a pup, was climbing the fence to get out and follow whatever scent he'd caught. He could climb out, but didn't seem as confident trying to climb back in. Not only that, but he was almost guaranteed to be hit by one of the speeding maniacs who lived further down on Paul's Drive or facing a fate worse than car homicide. He could have been taken by people who could sell him to less than reputable labaratories, where he'd be caged, tortured, even mutilated, then usually killed.

The lady who initially told us about the Beagles said that she could take Fitzgerald back. We were assured he'd be living a good farm life with wide open spaces to roam, as that would have been his gig had I not snatched him up in my arms, suffering from full-on Beagle Fever. The last I heard, Fitzgerald is living the good life out in the country. Considering the chaos that life has been since 2011, I'm glad I gave him back.

After Toby passes, assuming he goes before I do, I don't see myself with another dog. My age, living arrangements, and health concerns make it all too clear that bringing another dog "home" would only end in grief and god knows what else when I'm gone. That's not fair to the dog. I don't like the idea of never having another dog in my life, especially if it's a Beagle but, when a decision you make will have bearing on more lives than just your own, it would be beyond unethical to make a pooch believe s/he has found their forever home, then find out their forever home called in dead, having hanged herself from the Cabrillo Bridge with a dog leash.

Looking at the possibility of future adoptions, then looking at the peevish expression on Fitzgerald's face, I am certain I'm making the best decision for everyone who is, or might be, involved or affected in the matter. That said, if anything should happen to me, don't do the flowers thing. And no, I'm not engaging in suicidal ideation. I'm just writing this as though it were a tragic dog drama lauded by the Academy Awards. Anyway, instead of purchasing dead posies for a dead person, give the money to the Beagle Freedom Project. Click their logo seen in this paragraph to learn more about the BFP, the Beagles they have rescued, and their plans to rescue even more as soon as they can.

Even better, this handy-dandy app does not require death for you to get involved right now. In fact, instead of endorsing death on any level, purchasing the Cruelty Cutter will help you save lives and spare others a grim, pain-filled existence.

Sally forth to buy the Beagle Freedom Project's app, Cruelty Cutter, that will allow you to shop cruelty-free, as well as add your voice to the thousands demanding corporations end their unnecessary, immoral, and antiquated research methods.

The app is cheap, but it works like a charm, and the $2.99 you spend to get it will go to help the organisation rescue and rehome Beagles who have spent most, if not their entire lives locked in a cage that's locked in a laboratory.

Do it for Fitzgerald, the pooch who earned his honorary title, The One that Got away!

I know it may sound callous of me, but I'm not dealing well with the loss of Fitzgerald. I knew Sheba was sick. I prepared myself for her. I know she's no longer suffering. But Fitzgerald is still alive and I don't know how he is the way I want to. I get reports that he's back with his brother and both are very happy on the farm, but I don't see that. I always think the worst. What if something happens to him and I'm not there for him? What if the guy decides to give him to someone else who keeps him on a chain or in a pen? There's nothing I can do about it and it's distressing me more than anything has in a very long time. My heart wants to contact Becky and have her bring him back. Hell, bring Buddy too. My brain tells me that this is a very bad idea. They'd only break out of the fence and put themselves in harm's way. It's just gonna take time for me to come to grips with the fact that Fitzgerald couldn't stay here, no matter how much or how long it hurts me. I'm being selfish. I want a Beagle in my life and I know that Fitzgerald can't be that Beagle. It's not prudent to get another dog right now anyway. Times are too rough to take on another mouth to feed. We were already having trouble feeding the animals we had. No. I need to get myself together and be logical about this. There's no sense in blubbering over a situation that isn't going to fix itself without the time needed to heal.

Fitzgerald has been put with his brother Buddy on the farm. They have a large fenced yard and and acres of far beyond that in the event they get out. They seem to be as happy as clams according to Becky, which makes me feel somewhat better. I still wonder if Fitzgerald misses me at all. I know I miss him terribly, despite the havoc he's wreaked on our household.

My aim is, when the other dogs pass, to get a beagle puppy considerably younger than Fitzgerald was when we got him. And I'm going to teach him proper beagle manners. Life just isn't the same without a beagle and I realise what I've been missing all these years. I'm not a dog person, I'm a beagle person. And I just feel lost without one in my life.

I've had the first two best nights of sleep I've had in about three months, I think I'd give it all back just to have Fitzgerald living back here with me. Sure he only allowed me two hours of light sleep at a time, if that, and he ran me ragged during my waking hours, but I loved the little dog so much, I was prepared to trudge through it all until he grew up and began a sleep schedule like the other dogs. He was already sleeping from 23 until 3:30, at which time he demanded breakfast. Things were slowly getting better. Why couldn't he just stay in the yard and be a good boy? I was prepared to suffer through his teenage years if he just gave a little effort on his part, but how was he to know?

So, yeah, I feel guilty for having slept so well. I'm such a big nelly. What am I supposed to do? Sleep miserably for the rest of my life because Fitzgerald is no longer with me? Sometimes, I think I'm too soft-hearted, which is never a good thing for a Sith. We're supposed to be heart-hearted bastards who don't give a shit about anything or anybody. I need to get back to that mindset before this being overly-emotional kills me.

Fitzgerald had to go back to the farm from whence he came. He was cliimbing our fence and wreaking havoc in the neighbourhood. Nothing I did stopped him, especially from hanging out in our very busy road and almost getting run over more than once. I'm heartbroken. I already miss him so much.

I need to vacuum the house today, probably when Aunt Tudi wakes up. She got up and took her meds, then lay back down. She had it rough at physical therapy yesterday, so she really needs the rest. I don't want to bother her rest with a noisy vacuum cleaner.

Later on today, Janice is coming down to help me figure out how to block off the top of a certain area of the fence. Fitzgerald is climbing up and over the fence at this point and got out four times while Aunt Tudi and I were gone yesterday. Janice got him back in the yard each time and she saw what he was doing, so hopefully we'll be able to nip this in the bud once and for all. If this doesn't work, I'll have no choice but to crate his little irritating arse.

The Mother Unit proofread The Blood Crown for me and left me extensive notes with suggestions on things to change and grammatical errors. I need to start trawling through that and making the necessary adjustments to the manuscript in preparation to send it to Sophie. I also need to order another copy of The Chalice to send to vwip now that the moneys are finally transferred from PayPal. That four day wait can seem incredibly long sometimes.

While Aunt Tudi and I were gone to physical therapy, Fitzgerald got out of the fence again. He broke the stick that Janice had put through the fence and climbed through the resulting hole. We have it fixed to where he can't do that again. Great Lady only knows where he'll try to get out the next time. If this keeps up, I'll just have to crate him until he's old enough to be trusted in the general population indoors while we're gone. I don't want to give the dog up because we are indeed quite bonded. He's made my life a misery, but damn if I haven't tightly bonded to Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald got back out of the yard today while Aunt Tudi and I were gone to the store. Janice got him back in and found his new escape route. The wee bastard was climbing the fence until he got to a hole big enough for him to squeeze through. Janice cinched the hole up and he hasn't gotten back out since. He was in the yard when Aunt Tudi and I got home. Tomorrow I'm going over the fence parameter with a fine-toothed comb and, when I'm not doing that, I'm gonna be beating me a beagle dog with a big honkin' stick.

Whenever Aunt Tudi and I leave in the car, Fitzgerald breaks out of the fenced yard and goes looking for us. The first time he did this, he couldn't get back into the yard and panicked. We came home to an extremely distressed beagle puppy who leapt into the car when Aunt Tudi opened her door and hugged me, crying his eyes out and licking my face so enthusiastically, he knocked my glasses askew. It was a ridiculous sight, straight out of a sitcom. Janice helped me repair the fence where Fitzgerald had gotten out and everything seemed copacetic.

Until this evening.

We had to go out for a little while with Janice. After about an hour of being gone, she got a phone call from Uncle Michael telling her to tell Aunt Tudi and me that Fitzgerald had gotten back out of the yard and was roaming the hill. When we got back home, though, he was in the yard. WTF mate? Janice suggested that perhaps Uncle Michael saw Fitzgerald's brother who lives his life on a chain at the neighbour's. His life sucks, so it would stand to reason that he'd want to break free. I pondered out loud that maybe Fitzgerald found a new way out and was able to get back into the yard before we got home. So we pulled back out of the driveway and waited. Shortly thereafter, here comes Fitzgerald running to the car, his fur shining in the headlights. That little shit. We pulled back down to the house and he followed me into the yard. I then stepped back out of the yard and called him. He squeezed out of a hole he'd broken in the fence the size of his bony little head and ran to me with glee. Janice is gonna come down tomorrow and help me repair the fence again and we'll go from there.

But if Fitzgerald keeps this up, I'll have to find him a new home for his own safety. He's gonna end up getting squished in the road or harmed by someone in the neighbourhood if he continues to roam the hill when we leave. And I know it's because he's looking for us because he exhibits no desire to leave the yard when we're home. What a dilemma.In brighter news, I found Peggy on Facebook and subsequently found out who plays Peggy in the Discover adverts. For those who haven't seen them, here's a taste.

Peggy is played by one Tudor Petrut, a Romanian-born actor/writer/director who consulted on Francis Ford Coppola's Bram Stoker's Dracula, giving the cast and crew all the relevant information on Romanian history and art, and coaching the actors in speaking Romanian and with a Romanian accent. How cool is that? Who knew that the person responsible for all the wonderful Romanian flavour of one of my favourite movies would be making me literally laugh out loud almost twenty years later? It's a strange world we live in.

I keep going out with Fitzgerald and encouraging him to pee outside. Most of the time he does; however, he still prefers to pee indoors, especially at night. I figure it's because he's afraid of the dark. Even when I go out with him, he will come in and immediately pee on the floor. I'm at my wits end. I don't want to spank him, but I do reprimand him verbally. He seems to not understand my angry tone. I'm starting to think that the dog has a mental deficiency. I just don't know what to do with the little nipper. ::eek::

Fitzgerald let us sleep until 7:30 this morning! That's a record, I think. I feel so refreshed and full of it, it's ridiculous. Today's a good day to go sky diving. That's how good I feel today. This is a good thing. It means I'll be able to do Chester without much of a problem and still have a good bit of the day to myself. Hot damn!

I spent the first half of the day at Mental Health for group therapy and then my appointment with the medication doctor. Therapy, I found out, is an hour and a half long, not just an hour. Because of that, I had very little time to do anything before it was time for my doctor's appointment. So I went and got gas and a drink, then drove back to MH for my visit with Dr. Smith. It was about a thirty minute wait before he called me back early. He weighed me and I discovered that I've lost 13 pounds since discontinuing the Zyprexa. I told him I'd done so and that I was already losing weight. He understood my reasons and decided to increase my Klonopin at night to help with sleep.

Therapy went well. We talked about a joy-inspiring moment in our lives and set goals that we thought would bring us more joy. My goal is to live in England and be a successful author. Rosa wasn't as irritating as she usually is and the folks in the group are really fascinating individuals. I really enjoyed my time there today. Perhaps I've finally found a place where I can let my hair down and learn techniques to deal with my anxiety and insomnia. Here's hoping. If that's the case then I must concede that Rosa knew what she was talking about when she told me I needed to be in this group. Kudos to her. Oh, and I didn't leave with a raging headache this time. W00T!

On my way home, I took my lunch money that Aunt Tudi had given me and bought Fitzgerald a rawhide bone to gnaw on while he's outside. He sniffed of it, picked it up, and ran like a bat out of hell around the yard. I checked later to find it partially buried. He's so much like Henry it's just mind-boggling. I dug the bone up and am gonna give it back to Fitzgerald tomorrow morning. He'll have enough time outside alone to where he can successfully bury it if that's his pleasure.

Fitzgerald has been banished to the outdoors during the day. He refused to be housebroken, just like a stubborn Beagle, and was peeing all over the house. He also refused to acknowledge the "no" command. Out the door he went. He's doing okay, though. He comes in for his daily naps and he's in at night. I also go out and spend quality time with him, playing with him. After just three days of being outside, Fitzgerald is now obeying "no" and is no longer peeing in the house when he's indoors. He's a smart dog, but he's the most stubborn dog I've ever encountered. I'm glad he's finally having a breakthrough. After a month of hell with him, it's heartening to see him finally fitting in and shaping up.

I go to group therapy and see the medication doctor today. There's about two hours in between the appointments, so I'll be hanging out at the library for a little while after group therapy. I need to remember to take some aspirin with me because Rosa, the counselor who leads the group therapy, gives me a headache every single time I encounter her. When we were doing the one-on-one sessions, I walked out of her office with head pain. It happens every single time. The woman is an irritant. When I see Dr. Smith, the medication doctor, I'll be telling him that I've stopped taking the Zyprexa. I've already lost a little bit of weight since I stopped the medicine. I'm not sleeping very well, but I am getting a little bit of sleep, so I'm not sure what he'll suggest or what medication he might try me on next, if there is even a different med he can try me on. I might have run the gamut. We'll see.

When I get home, I'm going to try to finish up editing a short story I'm writing for an anthology about "how the West was weird." It's a werewolf story that involves gunslinging and cattle mutilation. All this happens in the little town of Bent Elbow, Wyoming. There are some things I need to change about the second draft and I need to insert a chunk of the story that I wrote after the second draft was finished. It involves a stand off between One Cloud and Sheriff Hap Coleman. Once I successfully drop that into the story, I think it'll be finished and I can send it off to the gentleman who asked me if I wanted to participate in the anthology. I just hope it's good enough to be included. If he rejects it, I'll post the story here just for shits and giggles. I've never written anything about the Wild West, so I'm really stepping outside my comfort zone with this. If the story is accepted, I'll be a happy little cowpoke.

It's time for me to start getting ready for my day at the crazy house. More later.

Here are some pictures of Chester and Fitzgerald. Chester looks like he's trying out for a bear rug competition and Fitzgerald appears to have a sheepish grin on his face. He's up to no good as usual, even with the lamp shade on his head.

A piece of an acorn somehow lodged itself in Fitzgerald's cornea. Doc removed it without any problem and I take him back for a recheck on Friday. He came home with a lampshade on his head, which means he's miserable on that level, but he was thrilled when he saw Aunt Tudi and me, which is a good sign. When we got him home, Fitzgerald had a running fit with happiness and forgot about his lampshade there for a while. He's lurching about the house now, trying to get the lampshade off his head. Poor bugger. I'll grab some pictures of him tomorrow. I'm too pooped to do it tonight. Can't wait 'til 10 when I dose Fitzgerald with some Benadryl and enjoy sleep, blessed sleep.

Fitzgerald has a little cold in the better eye, nothing to be worried with essentially. HOWEVER. That's a big however...his other eye is ulcerated due to a foreign object, which appears to still be lodged in his cornea. Doc had to keep him for sedation so he could really get in there and see if something is actually there, remove it, and repair the wound. I may be able to pick him up this afternoon, but it might also entail an overnight stay. Either way, Fitzgerald will be coming home with a lampshade on his head, and that means that my job is going to be ten times harder than it already is. Nothing worse than a 4-month old teenage puppy given limitations that come with a buster collar.

Oh, one more thing; when I first took on Fitzgerald he measured at just over 7 inches and weighed 7.2 pounds. Within a month he's grown to 11 inches with a weight of 11.6 pounds. That's just freakin' incredible. He's got four more inches to go and about 10 more pounds for optimum size for a 15 inch Beagle.

This is utter bullfunky. Fitzgerald wakes up at 4 AM on the dot every morning, getting me up to let him out to the bathroom and feed him. Then it's playtime...at 4 in the morning. I'm getting sick of it and I'm just hoping I can keep this up through his difficult puppyhood. I'm getting some Benadryl today to dose him up. This morning isn't so bad because he's sick, so it's off to the vet as soon as he opens. Fitzgerald has one eye swollen shut and the other eye going. A puppy with puffy eyes doesn't play much. So I'm gonna try to get him to lie back down for a couple of hours.

After three hours of hard play, Fitzgerald is flat of his back and limp with sleep. I saw my opportunity to take a picture of his Triskele. It's the best I could do. First a pic of how he sleeps, then the close-up of the spiral design on his nipple. Sooooo cute!

I've been up since 4 AM. After not sleeping well at all and getting only about three hours at that, I was awakened by a Beagle ready to go out to the bathroom an hour early. He pulls hair when he's ready to get up. He pulls a lot of hair and it's really painful. I got up and took care of all of them. Fitzgerald is back outside just to make certain he does his business. He has the pee schedule switched to where he'll go outside to poop and do outdoorsy type stuff, but he comes in and pees. This can't keep going. So he's outside right now being as miserable as I am in here. When he gets in, I'm going to try to get him to lie back down. I'm so tired I could curl up in a ball and just die.

Fitzgerald has a Triskele on one of his nipples. It's coloured dark grey, light grey, and light brown and spiraled perfectly. It could also be a hurricane that's being tracked by meteorologists on the Beagle belleh. Whatever, he's marked, and in such a way that makes me believe he was meant to be with me. How many Triskele-wearing women end up with a beast that has the same mark as a pattern on his flesh? There's no such thing as coincidence. Everything happens for a reason.

Fitzgerald didn't get in bed last night until around 10:30 and he was up rearing to go at 5 on the dot this morning. I've been online ever since, but I just haven't had a functioning brain to post here or anywhere else for that matter.

I woke up to a wonderfully dreary day with threats of storms with winds topping 70 miles an hour popping up unexpectedly here and there. We haven't had any storms here yet, just a skoche of rain, but the potential is there and I've the feeling it'll be the last storms of the seasons before Summer finally surrenders to Autumn's wise counsel. Until that time, the weather radio keeps going off with "important weather information" and issuing thunderstorm watches and warnings. This is what happens when a cold front meets Summer in the South head on. It's glorious to behold.

Fitzgerald let me sleep til almost 7 this morning. He was apparently waiting for the light of day so I could schlep my way outside to fix the fence he broke last night. Yes, he broke the fence, just a little piece and out of the yard he flew. It's not that he hates his home or even is worried with what's outside the fence. He's just a puppy who wants what he wants when he wants it. Last night he wanted to play with the next door neighbour's 9000 year old poodle, Lucky. Lucky was not impressed. So I had some fence mending to which to attend. Fitzgerald joined me outside and frolicked and played throughout the yard while I froze myself silly mending the fence. The temp right now is 43. That's cold to someone used to temps in 7000s. And I have holes in my flannels, so they're no good, at least not as good as they used to be. Buuuuut, anyway, the fence is mended and Fitzgerald is still outside running around like a little idiot.

I'm borrowing the whole of Uncle Michael's extensive CD library to put on Froderick. Today I increased my tally by 87 songs and Uncle Michael will be getting more music to me tomorrow. Muahahahahahaha!

Also, I tested Fitzgerald on his leash and collar. He balked a little bit, but was relatively okay with the whole situation. That's what I love about Beagles; they're so laid back. A few more sessions with him on the leash and collar and Fitzgerald should be on his best behaviour for when he goes to visit Doc Patch for his shots and initial check up. I'm hoping to get that done after the first of the month. He's already been de-flead, de-wormed, de-freaked, and de-frocked, so it's only his shots he's lacking. Maybe after the first of the month, that will be rectified rather quickly.

He's usually really good about going outside to the bathroom, but Fitzgerald had a wee accident right at the door. I didn't notice him there because I was on the phone with clumsycake. I had to get off pretty quickly to whisk him outside and help Aunt Tudi clean up the mess. Fortunately, it was solid but, unfortunately, it had tapeworm segments in it, which meant Aunt Tudi was thoroughly squicked beyond the human capacity for reason. I got it up and sent Toby and Fitz out to play. Hopefully, they'll come in pooped and ready for a nap. I'm pooped myself.

The promo pictures for the new Shriekback album involve clowns. Clowns! My only brief respite with colrouphobia was the Joker and now Barry has brought those painted terrors into the realm of Shriekback. What sort of sick author of my life decided this was a good idea for me to face something like this? I wrote Barry and asked him why why why clowns. He probably won't answer, but at least I asked.

Fitzgerald has been given his tapeworm pill. By tomorrow, he will be totally wormless and ready for his shots. It's just a matter of getting him up to Doc's to get the puppy shot up. He's gained at least two pounds since I've had him and can't get into spaces he originally could have. The bebbeh is growing like a weed. And he doesn't look like a clown, even though he acts like one, at least a funny one, like Mister J. Although most people don't think he's very funny at all. I do and that's all that matters.

Fitzgerald has a tapeworm. Doc said that I'd need evidence of one before I could get a pill to get rid of it. This morning, I got to investigate Fitzgerald's poo and it had tapeworm segments in it. Since I haven't taken Fitz in for his exam yet, he doesn't have a chart, so I'm getting the pill under Chester's name since Chester is closest in weight. I knew Fitzgerald was hiding a tapeworm from me because he came to me covered in fleas. To ingest a flea pretty much means instant tapeworms because fleas are carriers. I just needed the evidence before Doc would give me the pill.

Evidence has been discovered...in spades.

This afternoon, I'm going to pick up the pill and drop it down the little Beagle's goozle.

Beagles are notorious for becoming laboratory animals. I don't know if it's because of their capacity to learn quickly or their good nature ~ perhaps a combination of both ~ but I just could bear the thoughts of the puppy going to the shelter only to be picked up by a local lab to have experiments done on him. It's an abomination. Animal experiments in general are horrid to say the least but, to choose one of the sweetest natured dogs to shave and put on electrodes, leave suspended and offer up various horrible experiences is beyond my capacity for rational thought. I'd be in trouble if a herd of beagles needing homes came to my door. There's no way I could take care of them, but I'd die trying.

Fitzgerald bit into an electric cord and hit the live wire. With a yelp, he dropped it like a hot potato. Bets are on he won't be so ready to pick up an extension cord again. He's curled up asleep now. An active day for him indeed.

I'm so glad I was able to take him on. It's like having Henry around all over again, knowing I have at least 16 years to enjoy his Beagle antics. He's learnt his name in record time without having to ply him with treats, which is good. The dog is an EATER. Once Aunt Tudi starts sharing treats with him, the woman will have no peace, which means I'll have no peace. That said, I'm strongly discouraging any people food be given to Fitzgerald.

Honestly, I don't see anyone else sporting the patience this puppy needs in raising. I'm not tooting my own horn here; I'm just saying I know the breed very well and I know how to handle them. Strict diet, scheduled play time, long naps, and unlimited love and tummy rubs. That's the ingredients for a happy Beagle.

One thing I'm having a hard time breaking him of is wanting to gnaw on shoes. He's picked my Birks as the object of his affection. Since this is my only of pair of shoes, this isn't going to turn out well for either of us. Right now, I'm having to keep my shoes out of his reach. My only problem is that I keep forgetting to do so and off he goes with one of my shoes in his mouth, merrily trotting to his gnaw zone (this one area of the living room where he takes all his toys for to gnaw). So far he hasn't damaged my shoes, but I have a sinking feeling that he eventually will.

Fitzgerald has found a flaw in our fence and keeps escaping to follow his nose to new adventures, like playing with his big brother or plucking the fur out of a dead rat (eeewww). It's taken me two days to locate the breach in our stronghold, but found it I have. Aunt Tudi is down for the day, as her night was notoriously awful but, tomorrow, when she's able to help and supervise me, I'm going to plug the hole and that, as they say, will be the end of that. Usually our dogs don't want out of the fence. Our yard is 16th of an acre large, so it's not like they don't have running space and all manner of goodies the cats bring in. Fitz is just a puppy who has yet to learn his boundaries. He's a smart, albeit stubborn, learner, so I have faith in the little punk.

We let the dogs out for their early afternoon constitutional. Everyone but Fitz came back in relatively quickly; but, when Fitzgerald didn't come back after a long while, I grew concerned and went hunting. I found him at the neighbour's house playing with his big brother, having a grand old time. I apologised to Sam, scooped up Fitz, and hied my way home ASAP. I found the area where Fitzgerald could get out and wired it up sufficiently to where Fitzgerald couldn't worm his way back out. I'd love to be able to let him roam as he wants, but it's particularly dangerous for Beagles in this area to roam freely. Too many hunters looking for good rabbit dogs would like nothing more than to find a Beagle pup ripe for the picking. If Fitz does find his way back out of our yard, at least I know where to look first. Sam, the neighbour, is a good bloke and will watch over the knucklehead until I can go get him. For now, though, Fitzgerald is back at home and winding down for a wee nap after his adventure.

Fitzgerald has decided that the only place to sleep is on me. I could be sitting in an underpass holding a "will work for food" sign, and I'm afraid Fitz would be right there, napping on my shoulder. I have evidence.

I haven't been around much because I've been busy with the new family member, Fitzgerald Robes-Pierre. The first name was my idea, the middle name was Aunt Tudi's. Fitz is right at three months old, which means he's old enough to get into all manner of trouble, but not old enough to understand what he's not supposed to do. That being said, I've pretty much have had a two word vo-cab-oo-lary for a week, "fitzgerald" and "no." I'm happy to report he now knows the meaning of "no" and is answering to his name being called. I'm displeased to report that he prefers to ignore the "no" command and do as he pleases anyway. But that's the way it is with Beagles. Eventually, it'll all sink in and a very sweet-natured, mature dog will blossom forth.

It took four days before Fitzgerald made a noise any louder than a grumble, which he does constantly. He bayed for the first time day before yesterday and the heavenly song of AAAHROOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo once more rang on our hill. He has since yelped a couple of times because the adult dogs are teaching him a lesson and, today, he screamed his fool head off because I put him back in his crate so I could take Aunt Tudi to her doctor's appointment. He fell into a routine within 48 hours and any deviation from that routine will be difficult for him until he gets a little older and understands what's expected of him.

For now, I'm keeping to my two word vo-cab-oo-lary until he's about 16 weeks. Then we'll learn sit, stay, and maybe something to honour Henry (RIP) ~ "hit the deck," which is the lie down command, just a little more hilarious.